A Change of Heart
by DuchessMiMaAeKo
Summary: I was tired of repiecing my heart, using the shards that I had picked up when it shattered. It was encased in a protective layer of ice before. So when it shattered, it hurt. Why would it matter? If I repieced the shards up, it would never be the same.


**Author's Note:** Hello! This is my well, technically speaking, first story I've published on fanfiction, and I'm thinking I'm liking this - I feel so much like an author. I write so many stories (most of them original, unfortunately), and they all pile up in my documents folder, all cluttered up. I actually should be studying for a final right now, but this is _so much better_. :D Well, I realize that this is , not a place to publish original stories, so I might a) alter them towards a fanfiction that I can acurrately alter accordingly, or b)post up a separate website for all my originals.

ANYWAYS.

I don't think you want to read all this clumped up here, but... I'm enjoying my spot here as an author. I thought I'd enjoy reading here, but writing is just as fun, as I've noted time and time again. I mention the fact that I make original stories, because this story was an original story, for my English AP class. (Yeah, I'm not joining AP next year - I can't handle essays. :P) Anyway, I've decided to put this on fanfiction, to alter it as a Princess Tutu story. :) The thing is though, I've sent this story for a Christmas contest. (Well, to be honest with you, I gave it to my English AP teacher a day late, and I'm not sure she sent it in.) But just in case you see one that seems somewhat familiar, then that was the original. I probably sound like a copycat or stealer, huh?

Well, I'm not lying. If officials come and get me for this story, I have witnesses, proof... okay. I'm going a bit paranoid. Well, whatever. :)

Before I shut up, I'll display what seems to be put on everyone's story, before or after: (ohhh, my well, actually, it's my second disclaimer. But whatever~)

**Disclaimer:**

**Me:** *deep in thought*

**Fakir: **You know, baka, you have to say the disclaimer, because _you don't own Princess Tutu_... *mutters*: You clearly do not understand the concept of fanfiction...

**Me: ***glares but ignores comment & lightbulb lights up on top of head* Hey Fakir...

**Fakir:** *looks suspiciously* ...what?

**Me:** *bats eyelashes* Can you write about me being able to have the same ability as you? No, how about me owning Princess Tutu! Yeah! Cuz then I won't have to say the disclaimer!!! *gives puppy dog eyes*

**Fakir:** Absolutely not!!! The power I could give you - you'd mess up everything! Just admit you don't own us!!!

**Me:** Fine! *puffs up animatedly* I _was_ going to give you and Ahiru a happy ending, considering the actual authors didn't give you guys one really....

**Fakir: ***glares* We already have a happy ending, baka!

**Me:** Awwwwwwwwww!

**Me: ***turns to audience* There you go. Until Fakir says yes, _**I don't own Princess Tutu.**_ *sticks tongue out at Fakir, who mutters, "moron".*

PS: Wow, looooong beginning. This is only a oneshot, by the way. I'll write bigger stories throughout the summer, hopefully. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Blue Eyed Miracle

Though I refrained from thoughts leading to _it_, the topic was, immutably unavoidable at this time of the year, as much as I tried. In the process, I've grown more and more like the caitiff I used to be before I came across the inexorable. When I had helped Mytho with his _naivete_, so to say, about the current events at the time, it was difficult.

Mytho, best friend. I sighed. _Once, _I thought, _Once upon a time. _It did not matter that he had a sliver of a idea of what had happened. It still hurt to see his lips on hers, a passion-ridden fire clearly evident between the two. Yes, I was a man who could be despicable before, yet he befriended me. But, what best friend falls in love with the woman of your dreams?

_That woman_, I thought ruefully. The graceful ballerina I witness with my own eyes, floating around the theatre. Once she appeared on stage, it was like a blanket was lifted from my eyes. From the moment I saw her, I had felt warmth. I felt my heart slowly thaw away, frozen for so many years, due to rash conditions of high society frivolity. Twirling around the dark stage, the light following her footsteps as she goes, a swan in a foggy lake. She was the epitome of of alluring grace. Mysterious. Addicting. Beautiful. Alluring. I wanted to lay my eyes on her, again and again. I bought tickets for every show she shone her presence in. I never knew her name, I always knew her as my "Princess".

I had only seen her out of her shows once, and once was enough to break my heart.

The lady that I once loved; me deserted me for a man not half worth her beauty. The next day I saw her, her disappearance was ruefully noted throughout the whole town. The irony is that this is the anniversary of her departing.

I found myself calmly sitting on my mahogany throne, hovered over the crackling fire. I paid no attention to the carollers singing their jovially themed ballads, nor did I pay attention to the frozen raindrops floating outside. I held a glass of the bloodiest wine I could afford, silently sloshing the glass in my hand. _This_ was how I planned to spend my Christmas Eve.

A noise startled me from my thoughts, a sound that easily became a reticent memory. I sluggishly walked up to the door, revealing a single woman, about sixteen years of age, about the same age as myself. This woman was garnished in rags, blanketed with soot and scars. Her auburn hair was tied up in a long, messy braid, and also covered with grime from who knows where. She had the image of a dirty street urchin, a _beggar_, which I know for a fact is unusual for a lady this old; shouldn't she be at work, even if she is homeless? Surely, in the heart of London, the center of industrial development. But despite all of this, she smiled, ready to sing her cheerful arias.

So I slammed the door in her face.

I had pivoted towards my blazing fireplace, when I heard the dreaded noise once more. I unlocked my front door again, only to find the same putrid girl standing before me.

"Please, sir. You do not even have to donate. Just listen."

I slammed the door once more, passing by the frosted front window. Through the fog, I had found the very same child sitting on my doorstep, and I sighed. When will that stubborn girl listen?

I slowly opened my door again, and the young girl turned her figure around, revealing her dirt covered cheeks, and matted ginger hair. I had also briefly noticed her shining aquamarine eyes. There was a glint in them I could not quite comprehend. They did not shine because of the mesmorizing blue oceans that were reflected against them, but of something else. Something I clearly could not figure out.

"If I give you money, will you leave?"

"I do not need money, Sir."

Annoyance lit up in the wrinkles of my face. "Then why are you here?" I hissed out in discontent.

"Why not? Is freedom so diluted in this world, that one cannot bring sunshine into people's homes by voice?" Impatience was also evident in her voice.

I sighed. I was immensely tired with her petty games. "Fine."

"What?"

"Sing. Although your abominable behaviour is less than ladylike."

"Compared to what? You?" She snorted.

I turned my face away from the brat, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at her. "Just sing before I change my mind."

"Well, maybe I don't want to."

I narrowed my eyes. "You are wasting my time, brat. You might as well sing, or I can report you to the police."

"Fine."

Then, she sang.

And she was absolutely hideous.

"Silent night, holy night..."

"All is calmmmmmmm...." I flinched as her voice cracked.

"All is briiiiiiiggghhhhhtttt...."

"Stop, you petulant child, before you bleed my ears to death," I screeched. I did not care to practice proper ettiquite.

"Fine. You, sir, do not know an angelic voice when you hear it." She stuck her tongue out at me. I snorted.

"I go to the theatre every week. I participate in nightly galas and balls. Concerts featuring music that of Mozart, Beethoven, and many other classical artists you are too dense to understand." I was slightly surprised by my response. Normally I would not stoop down to something as lurid as stating the details of my grotesque (I must admit) life.

I heard a pig-like laugh coming out from the petulant brat, which really did not take me by surprise. Some lady."Since when was _that_ entertaining?"

I narrowed my eyes. As much as the sound of wealthy backstabbers who think they can do what they want just because they have silver in their pockets and a couple of diamonds hidden in their hair sounded glamouous, I had to agree.

The abhorrent brat said nothing as I gripingly dropped a couple of gold coins into her hand. I had to agree with this brat that wealthy bankers were not that entertaining.

She muttered her thanks, with me muttering incomprehensable coherencies. I swiftly closed the door, harder this time. But I was leaning against the front window, watching what the girl would do next. Mere curiosity. As I took a sip of the bloody wine, I looked.

The girl had not gone far without passing by a family of her kind. The family had consisted of three children, and a single mother. They held nothing but a small piece of bread; not even enough to sustain one child. I examined the girl's reaction to this.

She had taken one look into the can I had dropped my coins in, and one look at the family. She had done, without moments hesitation, had given _all_ her coins to the family. I gazed at the scene further, and stared mindlessly as the family hugged her in thanks. She walked away silently, but not furious either.

I do not know what came over me, but I found myself snatching my coat, and running outside, chasing after the diminutive beggar.

Maybe it was time for a change of heart after all.

* * *

**Author's Postnote: **Here you go. My first story, technically speaking, published onto fanfiction. I was too worried about the characters being OC (although I've known about fanfiction for a while, I still don't know all the acronyms, so bare with me here), but I haven't seen Princess Tutu in a _long_ time. That was my excuse, if you ask me. Plus, there were a couple of times I've edited this story, including tonight, with _huge_ time lapses in between the two edits. So if parts seem choppy, then it was because my writing style and frame of the characters were different from the different times I've edited the story. (Plus, I might've forgotten to save a couple of times, heheh...)

The characters should be obvious; now that I look back on my story, I kinda forgot to put the names in. Oh well.

Hope you liked it! :)

Review please. I never really took the effort to review before, but I think I realize the encouragement of reviews. I should review more often, if I do ever get the time.

So click on that white button with the purple accent that has "REVIEW" written on it, and type out your words of feeling towards this story, even if it's critism. (Is that what a "flame" is?") It will make me _very_ happy. :)

Till then, peace! :)


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